Addiction
by Tryllia
Summary: She is dangerous; she is a drug. Kenyako. PG just to be on the safe side.


Addiction  
  
"Here you go," She laughed quietly, at nothing, as if to break his silence, and placed the coffee mug in front of him. He reached to touch it; it did not burn him. It was touchable in the places marked by her hand. Perhaps it was then, that he realized her touch manifested vulnerability.  
  
And he would forever remember it. He knew he would. Call it a way of self- consciousness, if you will.  
  
Ken remembered a lot of things, a gift only in the eyes of those who had yet to live with it. "Fortunate souls," he would think. Surely. His memories, every single one of them, would live in his mind; the frightening ones. the horrifying ones, they would jump up between the shadows on their bedroom walls at night, leaving a feeling in his gut. That he wanted to scream; he sometimes winced, half-asleep, and she would touch his arm, rolling over to hold him. "Try thinking about something else." And she would kiss him, softly.  
  
She was dangerous, she was a drug. The worst was, perhaps, that he knew this already, knew it so well too. Whatever she touched became vulnerable to her, her slave; and so he feared her, and yet, welcomed her kiss. And kissed back.  
  
Ken had been popular in high school, could have any girl he wanted. A name and its popularity and recognition will not die, even if the bearer of the name does. And high school had been horrible. The memories plagued him, haunted him - nobody noticed, but her. She helped. She was a drug. She made him laugh, and wasn't that a reason enough to love her? "Why does he love her?" They could hear the thoughts of classmates. Of those random people passing them by when they walked hand in hand. "Their relationship is chimerical. He pities her." They heard. Both him and her. And that was the only time Ken would see her blatantly hurt in front of a crowd, for the first time in front of anyone but him. And it hurt him.  
  
But he was Ken. Not any Ken. A Ken Ichijouji. An object more than a soul. And how could he love her?  
  
Because he did. And since when was love not enough?  
  
And they had both come to realize it wasn't. Not in high school. Yes, high school had been difficult. And that was - long ago. People forgot, everyone forgot but Ken Ichijouji, and even still, he was thankful for it. What were they, now? Cute? A match?  
  
The shadows still spoke, reversed shadows of faces he once knew. "Why does she love you?", and, "You don't deserve her love." And if ever he told her, she would say, "We deserve each other."  
  
It helped, if only for a while. She was a drug. She did not last forever, and he had to have her.  
  
And she was love, she was purity. Justice, he had come to realize, mattered to her. In the beginning, he didn't take her seriously - whoever took her words as something real in the beginning, after all? - and had thought it was Mimi's influence. Perhaps it was, too. But the emotion, the bitterness of injustice, that was real enough. Perhaps that was why, in the end, he decided to become what he is today. He would be one of the links of power, he would catch and arrest, hold her precious justice safe. And she would judge. Judge him. Make him vulnerable. Addicted.  
  
The third way of power, the one that makes the law, that was their love, he decided, sipping his coffee. It tasted like her. He always noticed those kinds of things. He remembered; he was powerful in that way, and she was, too. They were power.  
  
Perhaps that was the only good thing to come out of his months as an emperor, as the executioner. He had learned that power was only good when you shared it. And he often pondered what would have happened if she had been with him, back then.  
  
But that was years ago. Why do you choose to remember, Ken?  
  
"You're silent," She noted, as she sat down, on the other side of the table. She adjusted her glasses, pushed a lock of lavender hair behind her ear, only for it to fall back into her face a second later. "What are you thinking about?" She grasped his hand, and the touch still didn't fail to send a chill through his spine.  
  
She was dangerous. She was a drug.  
  
He smiled. "I love you." And she smiled back.  
  
And he was addicted to Yolei Inoue. 


End file.
